The Emissary
by Steamcraft
Summary: Post 3a: Claudia Stilinski was an Emissary, like her mother, and her mother's mother, and she would have taught Stiles the same, yet she leaves behind a journal instead with all her knowledge...and secrets. With her lessons and Deaton's help, whatever comes to Beacon Hills won't overlook him, and they can't outrun him. Very slow build Derek/Stiles
1. resurrect

A month after things had settled down and strict safety regulations were set on Scott and his pack, John Stilinski hefts a box from the top of his closet to the floor. He lowers himself to the floor, hands running slowly over the cardboard, heart aching.

It takes a moment, but with a sigh John finally lifts the lid of Claudia's belongings. He moves through the scarves and jewelry leisurely, setting them outside the box to get to the bottom. He sets out pictures of happy memories that tugs at him, but John smiles back at Claudia's radiant smile.

John ends up off track and lost in a photo album when Stiles comes home from school. He hears the door close downstairs, the call of "Dad?", and he panics a little; Stiles hasn't seen him go through his mother's possessions since after her death, throwing away what hurt too much, keeping the necessary. With Stiles thundering up the stairs, John wonders what his son will think when he sees him.

Stiles' footsteps falter as soon as he turns into his father's bedroom. His mouth is open to speak but now he's speechless. John watches his son's eyes roam over his mother's things, sees him swallow. Finally he looks at him. John smiles, tired.

"I have something to give you," John says. "Sorry for the mess."

Stiles comes closer and kneels, fingers reaching for a picture of all three of them at the park. Stiles is five in that picture, some time before his birthday, and the photographer captured a great shot despite the falling leaves the wind gave them.

He sniffs and quickly uses the back of his sleeve to wipe his eyes. John's heart hurts just a little more watching him, so he shifts and sets the photo album beside him. He digs in the box again, feels the cold ring brush against his finger, and pulls out a well-used journal.

"Stiles," he says, and Stiles with his red-rimmed eyes looks up. John inhales deeply, hands clenching around the journal because how much of a fool was he? He didn't believe his son, but he wasn't the first to face John's doubt; Claudia tired to show him the same thing, and he scoffed at her and it wasn't brought up again.

John holds the journal out to his son. "This was your mother's," he says heavily on his exhale. Stiles gingerly takes it from his hand, fingers flitting over the cover. "After I spoke with Deaton about your involvement with all the dangers around Beacon Hills, he said you have your mother's talent. I didn't even know Deaton knew her."

Stiles opens the journal and its not surprising to see his jaw drop open again. "M-mom was...?"

John nods. "I had no clue, trust me." Or maybe he would, if he'd only listened. He clears his throat while his son continues to slowly flip through pages. "Deaton said he can help you learn what she knew, if you want."

That makes Stiles look at him. "I can?" Just a few weeks ago he and John were screaming at each other about Stiles' stubborn need to be in constant danger when he ran with the werewolves and fight alongside them. John didn't like it any better when he realised he couldn't stop his son from risking his life for his friends and family, which lead him to Deaton and his advice. This way, Deaton assured, he would not be defenseless and not just dependant on a circle of Mountain Ash.

John hardly felt better, to be honest.

"I mean, if you want to," he answers lightly to evade another fight.

He isn't expecting Stiles to lunge over the pile to give him a tight hug. The father inhales from the surprise and releases it with an embrace of his own. In a way, he feels like he was giving his son permission to enter adulthood early, but John guesses Stiles' has been more mature than he gave him credit for for a long time.

"Thanks, Dad," Stiles croaks into his shoulder. "This... This means a lot to me."

"I know." He pulls back some to look Stiles in the eye. "Just, promise me you'll be careful. Please." Stiles nods.

"I promise."

"And its not to come before homework."

That cracks a smile from his son. "Of course," he replies and glances to the picture of them at the park. "May I-?"

John sighs and leans away, picking up the photo album. He took down those pictures eight years ago, all of them that had Claudia; the walls and fireplace mantle were bare for a long time until he couldn't bear the emptiness he was trying to hide and only made strikingly visible. Maybe it was time to bring her back into their lives, maybe he could learn from his mistakes and listen to his wife's wisdom through Stiles, everything he ignored before.

"I miss your mom," he whispers. "I need to see her."

Stiles is wiping his eyes again and nods. "I'll see if I can get someone to make picture frames at school."

"Good idea, son. Now help your old man up."

After the both of them place framed pictures around the living room and hallways, John takes Stiles out to eat, noticing quietly that his son is carrying Claudia's emissary journal still. This might be what people mean by 'angels are watching over us', because in that journal is all of Claudia's protection spells and healing remedies, John thinks. This would be Claudia's way of watching Stiles.

And he's relieved he's no longer a single parent teaching their child anymore.


	2. practical

As soon as Stiles went to Deaton's office that weekend after school, the journal - a store bought, purple and yellow daily entry book with an inspirational quote on the front - was confiscated.

"What the hell, man!" Stiles cried, reaching for his mother's journal. Deaton pulled it out of his reach, shaking his head.

"There are things above your level in this book," he said. "Knowing you, you'd skip the book work and head straight for something that'd get you in trouble. We'll go through it together until I see you have the basics down." Deaton turned and put the journal in a steel cabinet which he locked.

"Why don't we just go over it now? That's what I'm here for, anyway," Stiles whined.

The veterinarian smiled kindly. "It's not time, yet."

Stiles didn't know what Deaton meant by that, and his reply was even more cryptic when asked, and a month later Stiles still doesn't understand. Stiles thinks its time to learn his mother's legacy; he's known that since he received the journal.

He follows Scott to work everyday after school, something he thinks may be starting to grate on his best friend's nerves, but each day is the same answer from Deaton.

"When _will_ it be time?" Stiles complains loudly and bounces his knees. The German Shepherd on the table shifts with a short growl, making Scott sigh in frustration and back away with the needle. "I could be learning something before some creature comes crawling from the dark, and if I haven't learned something by then, it will be on your head, you know that right? It'd come straight for Scott and he'll be left defenseless without my awesome."

Scott looks at Deaton, gesturing with the needle. "This is safe enough for humans, right?" Stiles isn't offended at all.

Deaton ignores Scott's comment. "You'll be starting your lessons soon, but you're missing a key element. One that is vital before you begin."

"What is it," he asks, sitting straighter.

He watches him settle a small kitten in its crate before he faces Stiles again. "Remember when I had you work with the Mountain Ash for the first time? You told me you had to believe you had more of it, but you also said you couldn't believe it worked.

"You need to lose all of that doubt. You need to believe it will always work. When you're out there with your pack, you can't second guess your abilities at anytime. It will only put you and your pack in danger."

Stiles frowns. "You couldn't tell me this before?"

Before Deaton can answer, Scott's head swings toward the door and his mouth hangs open. "Derek's here." The chime rings on the front entrance and Scott leashes the dog before rushing out of the room. Stiles catches Deaton's eye as he follows Scott, but he pauses when he sees the man smile secretly.

"It's time," he says, and Stiles tries to get him to wait, to understand what Derek's reappearance had to do with his training, but Deaton continues walking and holds the Mountain Ash gate open for Scott. The Alpha rushes outside and Stiles quickly joins him, and Derek is leaning against the bike rack, hands in his jacket.

"When did you get back?" Scott starts. It's been nearly three months since Derek and Cora left together, and Stiles thought they would be gone for good - wouldn't blame them if they wanted to; its surprising to see him.

Derek shrugs, and Stiles notices how tense he is though he's trying for casual. "Not too long ago."

A moment passes without anyone speaking, and Stiles rocks on his heels. "Ooo_kay_, did you like, need something?"

"I was hoping to speak to Scott," he replies, eyes glancing at him before looking at Scott again. Stiles opens his mouth to say that whatever Derek wants to tell Scott he can say it in front of him, but Deaton appears behind them and hums thoughtfully and tugs on Stiles' arm.

"Let's go, Stilinski," he says. "Training begins now."

Stiles grumbles. "Nice deflection there, Doc."

Deaton once again ignores him, but addresses Derek. "I'd like to see you later, Derek, when you have the time." Derek nods, looking grateful, and the veterinarian drags Stiles into the backroom. The dog has been moved back to her kennel.

"You knew he was going to be here," Stiles accuses.

"I had my suspicions," Deaton agrees. He unlocks the cabinet and gets the journal from its shelf. Stiles clutches at it when it's passed over, wiping the dust from the cover. He opens the journal, acquainting himself with his mother's handwriting in a way that makes him remember the subtle smell of flowers.

"How?" he asks after a moment.

"It's called being intuitive," he responds as he digs through some boxes at the bottom of the cabinet and pulls out a gigantic, leather-bound book with a Celtic knot on the front cover. Stiles whistles softly and mutters an unheard joke about _Charmed_.

"Do you know what he wants with Scott?"

"I have my suspicions." Stiles rolls his eyes, but Deaton gestures to his mother's journal. "If she didn't place a table of contents, the first couple pages is what you'll be needing. Hopefully."

On the inside of the cover, there's a message: _Merry Christmas 2003 R.T._ Stiles wonders about that briefly, mentally going through immediate family on his mom's side, but her maiden name was Kielce. The first page is about Rowan wood and how to harvest it, how to create the familiar Mountain Ash dust, how to store and use. He turns the page.

Big, artistic, cursive letters are the only thing on page:

**_Trust__ In__  
__Yourself.  
__Imagine  
__Nothing.  
__You Got This._**

Stiles' fingers trace over the ink, mouthing _Mom_. His heart lurches and he swallows. Deaton looks over the table and nods.

"That pretty much sums up our lesson." Stiles looks at him. "As I said, it all depends on you. What I want you to do… let's say, a two week assignment. I want you to go through your average routine and put complete belief into your day. For example, believe you know exactly where you misplaced your keys. Don't _think_ you know where they _might_ be.

"Believing is the before process, imagining is what happens during. You need to have a level of trust in yourself that you don't need the imagination to create a circumstance."

Stiles stares with his mouth hanging open a little, and Deaton just smiles patiently.

Then, Stiles says, "I believe I will find a hundred dollar bill outside."

"No, you don't." Deaton laughs. "You're not grasping it yet, but you will. Think about it. It's going to be much harder than that."

He groans. "When can I do the crazy shit? Lydia said that Jennifer made glass fly through the air, and she conjured that storm. When do I get there?"

The man shakes his head. "In time, Stilinski, but you have a long way to go." He flips a few pages in his book. "I'll be making you a couple copies of what I have written down, myself. It may or may not be of use, depending how well Claudia's words influence you."

"Okay, thanks," Stiles says. "Can I go spy on the werewolves, now?"

"Given how impossible that will be, no," he says with laughter, but he waves his consent. "I'll be seeing you later, Stiles. When I have these copied, I'll send them with Scott. Can I trust you not to go further in the book than what we've talked about?"

Stiles grins. "Do you believe that I won't?"

"Absolutely." Deaton nods firmly, and Stiles is stunned for a second at the display of today's lesson in action, and then Deaton gives him an easy smile. "Do you see?"

"I think…?" he guesses, "It's going to take getting used to."

"That it is, but you have time. Don't rush it, don't get frustrated. Get going, you're free to go."

"Thanks!" Stiles calls as he grabs his bag from the waiting room and carefully puts the journal inside. He swings his backpack over his shoulder and rushes out the door, eyes searching for his best friend.

Scott and Derek had moved away from the front entrance and stand now by Stiles' Jeep. As he comes close, Stiles hears the end of their conversation.

"It'll need to be a pack decision," Scott is saying. Derek nods, jaw clenched.

"Of course," he says, "I wouldn't expect anything less."

Scott watches Derek for a moment before giving a sigh and shuffling his feet. "I'll think on it and text you when we've decided. Do you still have your old phone number?"

Derek nods again. "Even not, I'll keep in touch."

Scott nods, now, and Stiles rolls his eyes because it looks like the both of them achieved nothing, whatever it was they needed privacy to talk about. He steps forward and clears his throat.

"If we're all done nodding, I'd like to go start believing my homework can do itself," Stiles snarks. When Scott rolls his eyes, he rolls his entire head to look at him. Stiles shrugs. "What? Just because Harris is dead doesn't mean the work got any easier. No, seriously stop looking at me that way or you're running home."

Scott looks back at Derek. "This is what I deal with."

"I remember the both of you being a pain in my ass."

"You wanted me to join your pack, but _thought I was a pain in your ass_?"

"You were a pain because you _didn't_ join my pack. That one, however," Derek gives a slow gesture to Stiles who is watching them grimly, "was the constant pain for no other reason than he is an annoying asshole." While Stiles starts bristling, Scott looks at him fondly.

"Yes he is," Scott agrees, "but he's my annoying asshole. You should have seen the dog bowl he got me."

Stiles sighs. "Can we go now before I put you both on my List of Shit for life? Seriously, Chem homework. Boy Wonder, don't you want to keep those grades up?" Scott grins and says something to Derek that makes him chuckle, but Stiles gives no shits as to what it was because he's climbed into the Jeep and revved the engine purposely. Anyone still behind him when he goes into reverse will have no mercy.

"What did Derek want to talk about?" Stiles asks when they're far out of Derek's range of hearing, because no werewolf, girl, or monster of the night will come between their Bro Code. Especially when he's training to become Scott's Emissary. There's a special bond that further strengthens the Bro Code.

Scott raises his hand to his chin, what he does when he thinking hard. "Its nothing right now. Something I got to think about and toss around for a while. I'll let you know when it becomes an 'everyone-elses' problem'."

Stiles gives a frustrated exhale out his nose. "Ooo_kay_. Well, I suppose you'll let me know when I can help you."

"Sure," Scott says, distracted.

"Even when this is perfect opportunity to strut my stuff and prove what an awesome Emissary I can be."

Scott looks at him, "Wait, what? What does you becoming an Emissary have to do with you making my decisions?"

Stiles thumps the steering wheel. "Nothing, man. Just," he runs a hand through his hair, "there was a time when you told me everything, ya know? And now you've gotten so high strung with all this Alpha responsibility, thinking everything is your burden, and its not. I've told you this, Scott; your problems are my problems."

"Its not a _problem_, Stiles," Scott growls. "Its something I have to decide if its best for my friends."

Stiles bites the inside of his cheek before he ends up saying something nasty he'll regret later. "Fine."

"Fine."

They ride in tenseful silence for a few minutes. When the Jeeps pulls onto the McCall's street, Scott leans over and nudges his arm with his elbow. Stiles backhands him, and its returned with sharp jabs in the ribs.

"Ow, dude," he whines and rubs his side. "I'm fragile merchandise. You break it, you buy it." Scott laughs. "Where was Cora?" Stiles asks as he parks in front of Scott's house.

"Huh, I didn't think to ask."

"That's you. Not thinking. Thank Holy everything I'm the brains of this operation."

"I'm pretty sure that's Lydia, dude," Scott says, mirthful and dodging another backhand by jumping out. "A whole point-five above you." Stiles almost wants to run his shit-eatting grin face over. _Almost_.

Stiles drives home. His dad's at work, so there isn't anyone at home to gripe at him for playing video games before homework. When it gets dark outside, he fixes dinner and sticks a plate in the microwave for his dad, and heads upstairs to go over Chemistry. And, no, no amount of believing made his homework finish itself.

As he gets into bed, he texts Scott his mom's quote. Even if he can't figure it out yet, it still sounds awesome, and if he believes anything then its his mom's wisdom can help anyone.

And it may because he's tired and about to fall asleep, but Stiles believes with his whole being that everyone should know what his mom knows, because mom knows best, and she's _mom_.

Which is why he's really, _really_ confused when he wakes up and there's nine text messages on his phone from people he definitely _did not text._


	3. reach out

Scott hands Stiles Deaton's copies when he slides into his desk for English. There's a sticky note on top, but last week's test are being passed out. Although he studies, Stiles is always antsy that he'd forgotten something; a question skipped, his answer not detailed enough, his overactive tendencies writing answers that have nothing to do with the subject…

"It's an A," he mutters. "It has to be." His dad will think his mind is elsewhere if its below a B, and the last thing Stiles wants is to be benched when anything could happen (its been a very relaxing three months and Murphy's Law is bound to rear its ugly face soon).

He catches sight of Scott's letter grade when their new English teacher (thankfully harmless, Stiles made sure to background check her, and there may have been a stakeout or five) lays it on his desk. It's a B+, and Stiles slaps his back.

"Mr. Stilinski…" she says to herself and smiles at his expectant look. "Good job." Stiles takes his test and fist pumps. An A! Drumming his fingers, he slouches and smirks to himself. He might not have Emissary 101 down yet, but real school is a breeze.

He writes down the reading assignments and takes a couple notes before the curiosity gets to him; he unburries Deaton's papers and peels off the sticky note.

_Writing assignment: what  
__characteristics would as  
Emissary have?_  
_Due Friday, good luck._

_A. Deaton_

"Seriously," Stiles sighs, running his fingers through his hair. Scott takes a peek at him over his shoulder, questioning. Stiles waves the note and Scott smirks, that bastard. He kicks his desk, but that only has the little werewolf ass snorting with quiet laughter.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles finally looks at the copies Deaton gave him. They were nothing to help with the new assignment given to him, but lengthy details how to empower belief and put it into action. He puts those aside and pulls out a blank sheet of note paper, writing:

_What makes an Emissary?_

He taps his pencil, then:

_awesome magic prowess._

He crosses it out sharply. Obviously it wasn't going to be that easy or nonpersonal. Stiles sighs and thinks about Deaton. What makes him a good Emissary other than the annoying habit to be mysterious and as vague as possible? Deaton is knowledgeable, helpful, and patient with all of them, but there has to be more.

Ms. Morrell is even more obscure, Stiles reflects, numbering down the other Emissaries he knew. Jennifer was plain crazy, but he has to wonder what she like as Kali's Emissary, as Julia. What does it take to become an Emissary? What defines one?

Its those questions that follow him to lunch break. Stiles rips into a chicken tender and bounces the eraser of his pencil against the table until Lydia slams her hand over it. He blinks and looks at her with wide eyes.

"Stop it. You've been doing that for five minutes straight," she grits through clenched teeth. "Any more and a werewolf will punch you." Stiles glances at the group around him, takes in the ticks in their jaws. Even Allison looks close to pinning his hand with a dagger. Stiles grumbles and lays the pencil down.

"I wish you guys had werewolf homework," he says, a little spitefully. "Banshee homework. Hunter homework. Homework upon homework with a gazillion problem test at the end. I wish you all would flunk, you all suck."

Scott slaps him on the back. "You're taking the heat for us, though," he says with that stupid smirk. "No one better."

"You suck the most."

Allison hums as she tears apart the orange in her hands. "Not with me, he didn't." Isaac chokes on his mac and cheese and Scott flares a blush straight down his neck. Stiles sticks his tongue out.

"Way to kill with too much information, dude." Allison shrugs with a grin, popping an orange section in her mouth.

Lydia grabs the paper under his hand. "What are you working on, anyway?" Aiden looks over her shoulder. Ethan is sitting across the cafeteria with Danny and his friends today; he doesn't know when Ethan will tell Danny about his furry secret, but Scott's given the invitation. "Emissary?" Her eyes are piercing.

"Why are you studying about Emissaries?"

Stiles' mouth opens and closes and he glances at still-frozen Scott for help. They hadn't talked about this, informing the pack of Stiles' gift and inheritance. It wasn't something they thought about even, given how long Deaton kept holding off, but with Lydia attracting everyone's attention it isn't something that can be passed up any longer.

And maybe Lydia hasn't exactly gotten over Jennifer's displays and would like to stay away from magic tricks, but Stiles' hasn't gotten over her_ boyfriend and his brother killing Boyd_, so there's that, too.

"Well, Lydia," Stiles says slowly, not sure what to say.

"Stiles Stilinski," and ah, shit, she's gone high-pitched and Stiles winces, "if you're not completely honest with me, I swear to God the next dead body I find will be yours."

"That's not really something to joke about…"

"Stiles," Allison cuts in. "Just tell us what's going on. If… If we're going to be a- a pack-" Scott jerks next to him and everyone's staring at her because Allison's always been tethering between powerful ally and close friend. Under the pressure, she raises her chin and focuses on Stiles. "Then you - everyone - needs to let everyone else know what's on their plate. Things like this are vital to the pack. We can't go off doing our own thing when we don't know what will be coming here; its dangerous. And we're not just your pack, Stiles, we're your friends."

She chances a peek at Scott, blushing slightly. "Right?"

Scott nods with his mouth unhinged. Stiles slaps him on the back.

He sighs and gently takes the paper from Lydia's hands. "My mom-" Stiles clears his throat and tries again, voice soft and not making eye contact with anyone. He pushes his tray away to lean forward on his arms. "My mom was an Emissary. I had no idea until my dad gave me her spell book. Deaton says I have the potential to show her talent, and yeah, I want to be an Emissary. So, I'm studying with Deaton.

"I didn't think about telling anyone about it because it wasn't going anywhere at first, but I didn't want you to guys to freak out because of Ms. Blake." He looks at Lydia, beautiful and angry Lydia. "I know what you're afraid of and it won't be like that."

Lydia sniffs. "I hope not, but you know we've had clear examples of people who go crazy with power."

"Lydia," but she ignores Allison. She stands and takes her tray. Aiden looks between them and then follows her lead with a nod of his head. The twins were trying so hard sometimes to fit in and make amends that Stiles can only shrug back at him.

There's a loud crunch of an apple and Stiles looks at Isaac. He's chewing dramatically, and Stiles rolls his eyes, until he carefully swallows. "I think it'd be pretty neat. Kind of like an upgrade, if you know what I mean."

"Isaac," Allison and Scott both chide at once, but Stiles narrows his eyes at him.

"I'm not sure if I follow. Maybe if you want to explain it more slowly in a Mountain Ash cage wrapped with mistletoe, I might understand."

Isaac isn't amused. "I'm just saying that the McCalls' bat sure lasted long."

"Would have lasted longer with wolfbane-covered nails hammered through it," Stiles bites, feeling heat rise in his chest.

"Guys!" Scott snarls in his Alpha voice and he swacks Stiles' over the head. Isaac's mouth shuts and Stiles scowls at the paper in his hands. He crumples it in anger and leaves his tray on the table, grabbing his backpack and stalking off, ignoring Scott's calls.

His feet carry him to the lacrosse field where he sits on the bleachers. He lets his hand uncurl and the ball of paper rolls into his lap.

Isaac is frustrating, and Stiles scoffs._ Frustratingly right_. He hasn't been in a fight since a schoolyard bully said something about his mother in the sixth grade and Stiles had saw red and nearly bit a hole in the prick's arm; the couple punches he throws nowadays do nothing for werewolves (or Jackson's smarmy mouth). He'd be lying if he said that being more useful wasn't a big decision maker for wanting to be an Emissary.

Stiles is a strategist, researcher, and cheerleader. The most he's done against the enemies that wander through Beacon Hills is make nasty threats and aid Scott and the others the most he could, and that's hardly frontline.

Allison is a hunter. She's trained personally by her father to fight and use the weapons in their arsenal. She's frontline and kicks ass at it.

Lydia is a genius. She doesn't prefer to be frontline, but making concoctions and triple-proofing plans and being able to sense danger when it approaches makes her a very valuable asset. She plays it smart, and Jennifer had even saw her as a threat briefly.

He's not _useless_, he just hates being left behind or slowing down the operation because he's not as fast or well-equipped as everyone else. He's going to be a better fighter. It probably won't be enough to push through the creatures that will come through, but it could make them pause for a moment to be knocked over by a werewolf.

So, yes. Isaac is a gigantic douche bag, but Stiles likes that he's gained the confidence to say what was on his mind even with his Alpha and Stiles' best friend sitting across from him. He's probably getting his little werewolf ass chewed out about it.

Stiles smirks to himself as he unravels the ball.

Lydia won't have anything to worry about, either. He's seen what power-high villains are like: Peter (where the hell has he gone to, anyway?), Matt, and Gerard… The list continues, but he knows he will never be like them. It might look more tempting than ever, Stiles thinks, with the aftereffects of sacrificing himself hanging around his heart, but he still knows right from wrong and learning how to being a better asset from learning how to rule the world.

In the distance, he hears the school bell signify the end of lunch, so Stiles slowly takes off back to class.

He has this, and he knows he can make his friends believe that this is the best course of action. His steps falters and he blinks in surprise, then a grin stretches his mouth and Stiles is laughing.

He's got this.


	4. patience

For some reason, it takes Stiles the better part of Monday afternoon to remember his mother was an Emissary, even if he hadn't known when she was alive. He leans back in his computer chair and studies his mother's laughing face in the picture on his desk. His mom was caring, polite, thoughtful, and stubborn (which Stiles obviously inherited).

Stiles only knew her as a mom, though. Did she at act any different within her pack? He can't imagine her being secretive, mysterious and vague like Deaton and Ms. Morrell; another trait he'd gotten from his mother is he wears every thought on his face. She was so open and joyful and full of hope... Stiles remembers when his home lost all of that light, after she was hospitalized and the doctor called one evening and said her body was rejecting all treatments, how they never saw anything like it, they'd keep her as comfortable as possible.

Crossing his arms, Stiles shakes his knee. If his mom was anything different than how Stiles remembers her being, he can't believe it. She'd been kickass and inspirational, strong and courageous. He suddenly wipes his sleeve over his eyes, feeling saddened; he'd love to have seen her in action.

He flings himself forward, shaking his limbs and bringing his spirits back. Stiles had finished his homework an hour ago, so he doesn't find the harm to take a peek at the journal; he won't look through the spells, but maybe his mother will have a clue what characteristics an Emissary has. Stiles turns the page after the trust quote and finds a journal entry. He sits on his bed with it in his lap, heart thudding.

_July 1986_

_My mother took me home early from the meeting. I was so angry and my mother so disappointed in me. I fought with Trevor and Candice again today to the point where Alpha Simmons dismissed me; she had a word with my mother before she came to the car. The ride home was silent until we pulled into the drive. I told her Alpha Simmons' plans weren't ideal, that she or the whole pack should meet the pack coming in. Alpha Simmons wants to ignore them completely until they cause trouble; the whole pack and my mother agrees. I had stood and addressed to Alpha Simmons we should greet them before they start any mess so they are aware that we're active and protecting our city. We should meet them so we can assess their intentions and character; that is when Trevor and Candice shot down my suggestion._

_I understand, as the youngest member of this pack, their reluctance to find themselves in a fight against this new pack, but they should notice they're leaving themselves open for attack._

_My mother says as an Emissary-in-training I am not compatible with Alpha Simmons' pack. I share none of the pack's better attributes aside from Trevor and Candice's stubbornness. She tells me that I'll need to find my pack soon, those I'd be able to connect with in an emotional and ideal level. I don't understand, am I to be defined by my pack? I've just begun my path, but my mother isn't as helpful as I wish; she says it will come to me in time, but I still need guidance._

_Tomorrow I'll meet the pack by myself. There is no changing my mind. I, at least, want to be certain they are harmless._

Stiles wants to flip the page and read more entries, but he thinks his question was resolved for his assignment. He also has much to think of what he learned in that one entry: being an Emissary has been in his family since, at least, his grandmother, whom he never met. More so, his mother was born in 1968, making her eighteen when she wrote this.

He lays back with his arms behind his head and the book on his chest, and puts himself in his mother's position. Is he 'compatible' to Scott's pack? He certainly has the same ideals as them as they know each other well enough (bar Aiden and Ethan, of course), so Stiles wonders on his mother's question about being defined by the pack. He doesn't know what that means, but before he can think on it, his dad knocks and opens the door.

"Hey, son." He looks pointedly at the journal. "Homework done?"

Stiles sits up and nods. "Yeah. Just get home?" He looks at the clock, nearly seven-o'clock. His dad makes an affirmative sound.

"I wanted to see if you wanted some dinner." Stiles smiles and lays the journal on his bedside table, following his dad downstairs. "You wouldn't believe who I saw at the store," his dad says as he pulls out two plates from the cabinet.

"Derek Hale?" Stiles guesses. "We doing leftovers? Whacha want?"

"Get the lasagna. I thought he left town?"

"Yeah, he came back Friday," he explains and pulls out the herb and butter spaghetti instead. His dad makes a face, but Stiles ignores it. "He came by Scott's work to talk with him."

"Oh," his father's eyebrows rise. "Is he going to join the pack?"

Stiles is dividing the leftovers when he pauses and connections click together in his mind. "Oh my God, that's what it was about!"

"What?"

"When Derek came by and wanted to talk with Scott, Scott wouldn't tell me what was up and said it was a '_decision made best for his friends_,'" he air quotes with a sarcastic tone and gives a dramatic sigh.

"Maybe this is a test for himself," his dad suggests. "He's gotta think if this will hurt the pack." Stiles narrows his eyes at him.

"For only knowing about werewolves for some-odd months, you've become really perceptive about the whole thing," he remarks. "Are you Googling?" His dad knocks his head as he steals a plate and Stiles laughs.

They sit at the table, and Dad asks, "So, how is the thing with Deaton coming?"

That reminds Stiles of the entry he read. "Did you know Grandma? Mom's mom?"

"I met her briefly a few times. Ornery woman. She didn't like me," he says, thinking back. He wipes his mouth with a napkin and studies his son. "She passed away the night your mother went into labor with you. Why?"

Stiles never knew that, and it makes him want to look deeper into his mother's family history; it seems like a surreal coincidence for her to die when he was born. "She was an Emissary like Mom," he answers, "and she taught Mom to be one. Seems like it was the family business."

"Better than passing antique China. I wish it was only antique China," he says wistfully, and Stiles flings a noodle at him. "Not sorry. You know I rather you not do this at all."

"You win Father of the Year. Deaton has me doing two assignments. One: I have to believe that I can manipulate life around me to give me what I want, and two: figure how in the hell I'm to define what an Emissary is."

"Well the actual definition-"

"No where close, Dad," Stiles says with a smile. "Like, from what I read from Mom's journal, Grandma was expecting her to pick up traits from the pack they were in."

Its news to his dad. "She was in a pack?" Stiles nods, scrapping his plate clean, and his father makes a disgusted expression. "Chew your food, Stiles."

Stiles shrugs; he wants to get a couple hours of gaming before bed, but as he puts his plate in the sink, his dad very hesitantly asks, "Can I read the journal? I'll make sure you'll have it by tomorrow morning." Stiles runs up the stairs before Dad can take back the question and grabs the book that is so dear to them both now, words from a wife and mother never read by her husband and son.

"Thank you," his father says earnestly, and he lays it away from his dinner gently. Stiles claps a hand on his shoulder and shakes him slightly, then takes the trip upstairs again.

His phone beeps when he enters his room, and its a text from Scott.

** _From: Scotty McWolfbutt_ **  
_Group meeting before school._  
_Meet on the front steps at 7._  
_Important._

Stiles' tongue sticks between his teeth as he texts back immediately:

** _To: Scott McWolfbutt_ **  
_Finally gonna let us know about Derek?_

** _From: Scott McWolfbutt_ **  
_I'm not going to ask how you know._  
_Get your ass up in the morning._

Oy Vey. Early mornings and Stiles do not commute. He'll have to go to bed earlier than planned if he wants to arrive at seven and not a few minutes before the bell rings. To rub it in, however, of his awesome detective skills, he texts Derek the good news, because why not?

** _To: I'm a Sourwolf Now_ **  
_Your application is being taken for the board review. Congratulations._

Stiles tosses his phone on his bed and dives in after it. He grabs his Xbox controller, intending to shit around on Minecraft, but his phone beeps again from under him.

** _From: I'm a Sourwolf Now_ **  
_Your text was interesting to think on._

That makes him pause for a moment, wondering if the power of belief worked for anyone. He asks for clarification:

** _To: I'm a Sourwolf Now_ **  
_You understood it?_

** _From: I'm a Sourwolf Now_ **  
_Obviously not your words._

Stiles is able to hear the tease in that and he smirks.

** _To: I'm a Sourwolf Now_ **  
_Advice from a great teacher._

Derek doesn't reply, so Stiles sets the phone on the nightstand and mines until he hits lava, then his character runs like hell.

Stiles is predictably the last one to pull into the student parking lot. He squeezes between the bike rack and Allison's car and grabs his backpack as he hops out. His friends are talking between themselves, but the murmuring dwindles down as he approaches; Lydia won't look at him, but Allison's lips lift in a smile.

Scott nods his head in greeting. "Alright. Sorry for cutting into everyone's sleep schedule, but I have something to ask. Some of you are aware Derek's back in Beacon Hills," he states, and the rest of the werewolves make sounds of agreement, Aiden and Ethan seeming unsettled. Lydia's head snaps up, eyes wide.

"Derek's back? Since when?"

"Friday," Scott answers. "He came to talk with me. He asked if he could join the pack, but I wanted the weekend to think about it myself before I asked for everyone's opinion. I understand there's some history with Derek with practically everyone here, so I'm going to listen to all of your worries or anything else you want to add," several mouths opened to speak, but Scott quickly held up a hand to silence them before they began.

"One at a time," he stresses gently.

Lydia's arm shoots in the air, and the Alpha points at her. "I'd like it if Derek was in the pack," she says, surprising some of them. "He's reliable and trustworthy. The pack would benefit having him around considering he's the only natural-born werewolf we know besides Peter and Cora."

Stiles raises an eyebrow at the twins. "You two were bit?"

The pair of them shuffle uncomfortably under the scrutiny, but make small sounds of, "yes". They don't elaborate.

Lydia's head tilts, considering. "Where is Cora, anyway?"

Stiles wants to also add _where the fuck is Peter_ because he's been off their Creep Radar for three months, but it isn't relevant. He must be lurking around somewhere doing Creep Things that Creeps Do.

"Cora went back to South America," Scott answers. "Derek told me that the pack she lived with happily took her back in."

"And Derek isn't with her," Isaac drawls, "_why_?"

"He said it didn't feel right," Scott explains. "He didn't know anyone, and even with Cora's - or their own word he couldn't trust them completely. He also mentioned having conflicting views with the Alpha, so he needed to leave. Do you have something to add, Isaac?"

The blonde boy shrugs his shoulders in a way that makes Stiles cringe; if there were a sound effect, he can imagine Isaac popping his shoulders out and back into place.

"I was his Beta once," Isaac says wistfully, scrunching his face against the morning sun as he looks anywhere but his pack. "I think I remember saying some really horrible things to his face a couple times. Shouting, more like. It might be weird."

Scott kneels beside him and puts a hand on his shoulder, forcing Isaac to look at him. "I can promise you that there will be no retaliation from previous encounters. Allowing Derek to be in the pack, I'm assuring a compromise between all my Betas, my friends. If he threatens you- any of you," his gaze sweeps around the group, falling longer on Aiden and Ethan before returning to Isaac, "then he can't stay."

He stands again. "This is why its a pack decision. To me, you guys come first before any other."

Stiles snorts. "Well, except your mom. I don't know about your dad, but I'd gladly leave him to a starving, dangerous creature so it _really_ isn't up to me to save him." Allison elbows him.

"Stiles," Scott scolds lightly. "Not the time." He looks at Isaac again. "Is that alright?"

After a moment, Isaac nods decisively and Scott gives an encouraging smile. He turns to Allison.

"I smell your anxiety, what's wrong?"

Allison grimaces. "I'm all for it with Lydia's reasons, but speaking of dads, I don't think my dad will like it if Derek hangs around us. We may trust Derek, but he probably still doesn't; I don't know for sure but I think he'll flip out. Derek killed my mom, and yes, I know it was for a reason but I don't think you'd ever really forgive the man who killed your wife."

It takes a little longer for Scott to form his reply because it needs to be addressed carefully. Stiles is glad to see that the rest of them are patient with Scott as he is with them because Scott cares so deeply about the issues they're going through and the concerns they have. Scott always had the innocent facade about him, even when the pair of them were just a couple of troublemakers, and Stiles can't fathom how he's kept it now when some of it should have been replaced with darkness. Sometimes, Scott truly is a saint.

Stiles watches as Scott takes Allison's fumbling hands into his, noticing from his peripheral vision Isaac perking up where he sits. Slowly, Allison looks from their hands to Scott's face.

"To be honest, all I can say is that we will cross that road when it happens. I respect your father, he's been trying so hard to be a good man to all of us. I also respect Derek because he's been trying just as hard," Scott says earnestly. "He deserves a chance. I believe we will be good for him, and if I need to speak with your dad, I will.

"Is that okay for right now?"

Allison gives a nod. "Yeah."

Scott smiles again and faces the twins. "I've accepted the both of you through my friends. I've gotten to know both of you, and I feel your guilt from everything that's happened before. You two are still part of my pack; I can trust my life with your hands, so your opinion still counts to me," he stresses, consequential.

Ethan looks to Aiden. They both look as uncomfortable as they did when the conversation started. Aiden's jaw ticks but eventually he says tightly, "We've killed his Betas-"

"Not me," Isaac offers very unhelpfully.

"Isaac," Scott chides and motions for Aiden to continue.

"-how do you expect there to be no hostility?"

"Because I know you did it under orders of Kali," Scott says without skipping a beat. Stiles' eyebrows rise again; he'd suspected that's how the once-Alpha twins got the easy pass though he never knew for sure. "I'd expect Derek to be adult enough to understand the feeling of being forced to do something he didn't want to. If he knows this, there shouldn't be a problem."

Ethan seems to accept this response more easily than Aiden but they agree for the time being.

"Stiles?" Scott finally prompts him.

"Hm? Oh, yeah," Stiles shrugs. "A-okay here. I don't really care either way, you know?"

"I knew that," he smirks. "I was just going to tell you not to move because Isaac tied your laces together."

"What the hell?"

Which, of course, causes the initial reaction to look down and try to spread his feet apart, which, of course, ends horribly for Stiles because he tends to overreact and spazz with everything he does, and he topples over when he trips over his backpack.

"Jesus on a fuckin' cracker ow, _REALLY ISAAC!_" he hollers after rolling to a stop at the bottom of the, thankfully, short incline of stairs. He glares at all their laughing, stupid faces. "I'm going flay all your asses and give it to Derek as a welcoming gift. Especially yours, Isaac," he gripes and flips around and tugs at his laces.

Thankfully he can have as much patience as Scott, sometimes, or they would all be-

Stiles pauses.

Huh.

"Stiles?" Allison calls. "Did you hit your head?"

Stiles stares at her stupidly for a second before clearing his throat and shaking his head. He gets to his feet. "Uh, no. I just realised something for my homework. I think-" He stops himself, grinning.

"I believe I'm on the right track."


End file.
